The servants bowed and departed, leaving Yaneera and Jonas alone once more.
Chapter 15
On the other side of the Boundless Sea, King’s Court, capital city of Valaar
A knock at the door drew Syrion from his studies. Lifting his head out of the musty tome he had been reading, the young Astarii mage stood and made his way to the door. In the year since the Battle of King’s Court, life in the capital had settled considerably. With the people of Valaar united behind their young King Tristan, the land was beginning to heal.
Syrion had never known a home outside the region of Tolanis he had grown up in, but the presence of his family around him had brought a homely feel to the sprawling capital. Still coming into his powers, Syrion had chosen the Spire for his lodging. King’s Court was set on a natural harbor, its large curtain walls protecting it from assault by land and an imposing cliff face providing protection against the sea and its elements.
Along the top of the cliff ran the Sea Wall, and at its end the large stone structure known as the Spire overlooked the harbor. Once a lighthouse serving to guide ships into harbor, it now served as the living quarters for the young mage, a gift granted by his brother the King in gratitude for the role he played in preserving King’s Court from the usurper Gerwold. The otherworldly glow caused by Syrion’s study of the arcane now replaced the flaming torches of old in guiding ships into the harbor.
Syrion opened the door to find a nervous-looking soldier standing before him. “What can I do for you?” the mage asked, a little restless at the interruption during his studies.
“Y-your brother, I mean . . . ,” stammered the soldier, “the King requests you join him in the Throne Room. There is a visitor who wishes to speak with you.”
“With me?” Syrion asked, a little surprised.
“Yes. He arrived by ship this morning. He now awaits you in the Throne Room.”
“Do you know his name?”
“I’m sorry . . . sir,” the soldier said, shifting uncomfortably, unsure of how to address the wizard who bore no title yet was brother to the King. “I know little beyond what I have already told you.”
“Be at ease.” Syrion reached out a hand to steady the soldier. Gesturing towards the Citadel he continued: “Lead on—let us find out together.”
The soldier nodded his agreement. He led the way along the Sea Wall to the Citadel, Syrion locking the Spire’s door behind them. Syrion tried to spot the visitor’s vessel in the harbor below, but at this distance it was difficult to tell the ships apart. It was a busy day in the capital and the port was thronged with vessels.
As Syrion made his way along the Sea Wall his mind recalled vividly the battle fought on this very spot a year ago. The flaming elemental beast had almost consumed him. The mismatched colors of the stonework where it had been repaired served as a reminder to the mage every day. His headstrong nature had nearly cost him his own life and the life of the woman he loved.
The two continued in silence along the Sea Wall and into the Citadel. They moved easily through the Citadel, as guards recognized Syrion and moved aside without challenge. Arriving at the Throne Room Syrion was surprised to find several of the council already there.
His twin brother, Tristan, sat on the Golden Throne, leaning forward as he listened eagerly to the man who stood before him. Beside the Throne were a number of seats often occupied by the King’s Council.
Seated nearest the Throne was their mother, Elaina. At her side sat Halmir, first advisor to the King, always ready to share his wisdom. He recognized the Dwarf Ferebour, but other faces were new to him—likely recent appointees to assist in the myriad civic matters now consuming the King’s time.
As Syrion moved closer his eyes fixed on the figure standing before the Throne. The burly figure had all eyes on him, clearly engrossing the council with his narrative. He looked somewhat familiar but Syrion couldn’t place him until he saw the left leg—everything below the knee was missing. In its place a steel peg-leg had been affixed to the stump—the mage could not recall ever meeting such a man, and wondered why he had been summoned.
King Tristan stood and greeted his brother and those around him clambered to their feet to follow suit. “Brother, welcome. I’m sorry for disturbing you at study. I was loath to do so, but as our guest is an acquaintance of yours, I thought you would not mind the interruption.”
The man before the throne turned to face him—the scar that ran down his left cheek was unforgettable. “Kastor . . .” Syrion said. The sight of the old slaver filled him with rage, and without hesitation Syrion raised his hand, arcane energies pulsing through his body in response to his unspoken will. Elaina’s eyes went to her son as she felt the energy building within him.
Kastor threw both his hands up in front of his face: “Wait!”
“For what?” the young Astarii demanded as all assembled looked on in a mixture of fear and awe.
“Hear me out,” Kastor said. “Then, if you wish to finish what you started when you left me to die, you can. Just hear me out first.”
“If I had known you would survive, I would have stayed to finish the job then, Kastor.”
“The Allfather must have smiled on me, Syrion, for I should have died. I floated on a piece of driftwood for days. Do you have any idea what it’s like to die of thirst when you are bobbing about in the damned ocean? It’s an irony few can appreciate. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw a sail. I thought it would pass me by.
“Distracted as I was, I didn’t see the great beast approaching me from below. Its teeth tore straight through my leg. That beast was both a curse and my salvation, because the vessel heard my scream and made for my position. In my weakened state I fought off the beast as best I could, and it seemed content to wait for me to bleed to death. Fortunately I was plucked from the water before I passed out. The ship that saved me was one of the Shah’s fleet and had a healer aboard who saved my life.
“I might stand here before you today,” Kastor continued, “but I do so as a man who has lost everything—my ship, my crew and my leg. All thanks to you. Do you really think I would have come seeking you out if I had any other choice?”
“You were meant to lose your life, Kastor. It was an execution, not an amputation I had in mind when I left the Mistress smoldering on the water . . .”
“You are the slaver who took my son?” This time it was Elaina’s voice raised in outrage that pierced the room. “You would have taken my son from me and now you come seeking our aid. . . . I am inclined to destroy you where you stand.”
Kastor’s fear and frustration were evident as he shouted back angrily: “I understand your anger, but for the love of the gods hear me out. Ask yourself, would I have come here at the risk of my life if there were any other option? There are greater threats than me in this world and I have come bearing word of one such threat.” Kastor shifted nervously under the scrutiny of the room before continuing his address to Syrion: “That was before I knew you were brother to the King of Valaar.”
This time it was the King who spoke. “Then I would suggest you speak quickly, Kastor. With both my brother and my mother seeking your life, there is little I can do to preserve it—even were I so inclined . . . I would make your case quickly.”
The slaver nodded his understanding. The King took his seat and the others followed suit. Syrion exhaled deeply, allowing the gathering magic energy to dissipate harmlessly as he strode past Kastor and took a seat by the Throne. With the immediate threat diminished Kastor drew a deep breath and began to speak.
“As I said, I was pulled from the water by the passing vessel and my life was saved. My benefactor was none other than the Shah of Khashish. In return for saving my life the Shah requires that I work off my debt.”
“A slaver enslaved—how appropriate,” Syrion laughed, enjoying the captain’s bizarre shift in circumstance.
“I assure you the Shah likewise appreciates the irony of my situation. He has a strange sense of humor and n
one of the compunctions about slavery that you Valaarans have. Khashish has always had slaves—it is part of our way of life. So I serve the Shah until such a time as he deems I have repaid my debt.
“For the last year I have done so faithfully and have enjoyed favor with the Shah. In our discussions I have shared many of my experiences, including my time with you, Syrion, and how I came to be marooned in the Boundless Sea in the first place.”
“You spoke of a threat, Kastor?” Tristan said, encouraging Kastor to move along his narrative. “I would hear of that.”
“Indeed. It is the reason for my being here. A month ago a stranger arrived in the capital. He was traveling with one of our caravans. At the insistence of the caravan master he was granted an audience with the Shah on account of his extraordinary gifts.”
“Gifts?” Syrion asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“The stranger had traveled south with one of our caravans. En route to our capital the caravan was ambushed by bandits. Our witnesses tell us he routed the force of bandits single-handedly.”
“What are a few bandits to a trained soldier?” the King asked, unimpressed.
“My liege, Khashish is a land very different from Valaar. Your island Kingdom, while grand, could fit inside the land of Khashish many times. Our land is difficult to govern due to its vast arid expanses. There are many places for brigands to seek refuge from the Shah and his troops.
“Additionally, their ranks are swollen by escaped slaves who’d rather starve in a desert than serve a master. When I say they were set upon by bandits I mean our caravan master indicated there were over a hundred of them.”
“A hundred?” the King exclaimed. “What manner of man can defeat such numbers single-handedly?”
“A sorcerer with powers like your brother’s,” Kastor replied. “He summoned a firestorm that routed the attack and sent the few surviving bandits fleeing for their lives.”
Syrion spoke up. “Are there many sorcerers in Khashish, Kastor? When we last spoke you seemed to be well acquainted with my kind—you even possessed the means to prevent me summoning my powers. How is one sorcerer such a threat to you?”
“This man is no ordinary sorcerer, Syrion. We have encountered sorcerers before—this man was something else. While the event was concerning, magic alone would not merit my journey here. The Shah understands how I am likely to be received and was willing to send me to my death anyway. A servant I may be, but I am a valued one. The Shah does not send me lightly.”
“What is it your Shah fears so greatly, that he would sign your death warrant so readily?” Syrion asked.
“It is the message the stranger bore,” Kastor replied. “In destroying the raiders he was not seeking favor with the Shah—the sorcerer wished for a spectacle to underscore the import of his message.
“The stranger referred to himself as a Disciple and messenger of the god Mythos. His message was simple: we are to cast aside all other beliefs and creeds to worship his god. If we do so we will be prospered, but if we reject him we will be ground beneath the feet of those who serve him.”
“This Disciple—what did he look like?” the Lady Elaina asked.
“I saw him only briefly,” Kastor replied. “He wore robes of black and red, and on his chest he bore a strange insignia—a crescent moon amid a sea of stars. In his right arm he carried a silver staff, the head of which took the same shape of a crescent moon.”
“A crescent moon, you say?” Elaina asked, deep in thought.
“Yes—why do you ask?” Kastor said. “Of all I have said, what is the significance of the moon?”
“The Allfather whom I once served, is always represented by the same symbol—the smiling sun. Perhaps it is coincidence that this symbol is the moon, but I think not. This Mythos might be the very threat the Allfather has warned Creation against.”
“What is Creation? And what is this threat you speak of?” Kastor asked, perplexed.
“Creation is the name the Allfather has given his domain,” Syrion explained. “Our world, Meldinar, is but one among many that make up his domain. Those that live within his domain are subject to him. This servant of Mythos will be an affront to his rule.”
“You should know there are more of his kind,” Kastor stated with firmness. “He traveled as an emissary of the Empire of Andara, our northern neighbor. I understand that more of his kind traveled to the other Kingdoms of Sevalorn bearing similar messages. If we refuse this emissary we will need to contend not only with him but with Andara, along with anyone else coward enough to submit before him.”
“And what would you have us do?” Tristan asked. “It is only a year since our island was engulfed in civil war. Our people are still struggling with the aftermath. We don’t have the means or manpower to fight your wars for you.”
“It is not an army I seek, Your Highness. If your brother were to aid us against the Disciple’s grasp, we will be free to fight a war on our own terms.”
“You want me to fight your battles for you, Kastor?!” Syrion blustered. “You must be mad. How short do you think my memory is?”
“Lay aside your petty grievance, Syrion,” Kastor responded boldly. “And remember that it is not I that ask this of you—it is the Shah of Khashish, one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in Sevalorn, if not the world. If you aid him in his time of need he will repay the favor. Should we fail, it will not be long before the Disciples turn their gaze to Valaar.”
Before Syrion could reply, Tristan raised a hand. “We will consider your request, Kastor. For the time being we will find a room for you. You may leave us—you have given us much to discuss.”
The King gestured to a nearby steward. “Take our guest to a room and see that he is fed.”
Kastor was unsure whether he had been successful, but successful or not it was evident that his audience was over. Kastor took comfort in the fact that he had survived the encounter—only time would tell what would come of it. Kastor affected a bow and followed the steward out of the Throne Room.
Chapter 16
The door to the throne room closed heavily, leaving Tristan and the King’s Council to ponder the message that had been delivered. Syrion was the first to break the silence: “Are we seriously considering his request?” The disbelief was evident in his voice as he spoke. “That man abducted me, shackled me in a cell in his ship and would have sold me into slavery. If he had had his way I wouldn’t be here now.”
“I understand, Syrion,” Elaina replied. “It is all I can do to not tear him apart myself, for trying to take my boy from me. But we must set aside the past for a moment. We need to separate the message from the messenger. What fate lies in store for Kastor can be determined later. In the meantime we must consider what the coming of this Disciple might mean.”
“What is it about this Disciple that has you so disturbed, Mother?” Tristan asked, his voice tinged with concern. “I have not ever seen you so.”
“It is not the Disciple but his master that concerns me,” she replied. “Before the Allfather brought us into being the heavens were not as they are now. We know the Allfather rules over Creation, but beyond the fringes of Creation lie worlds beyond number. In our lore we know that these worlds once stood together, united by a powerful being known as Apollos. Apollos ruled supreme for eons.
“As his dominion expanded,” she continued, “he raised up sons to serve him. As the sun and the moon rule the sky, so too did these sons rule the heavens. With the power of gods and the impetuousness of youth they drove all before them. In time a vast swath of worlds paid homage to the dynasty of Apollos.
Then one day everything changed. There was a tremendous struggle on Empyrea, the seat of Apollos’s power. The Astral Palace was destroyed as these three beings strove against each other for supremacy. Apollos perished in the conflict and his sons fled the devastated planet.”
“Where are these sons now?” Syrion asked.
“I’m getting there—patience, Syrion. Each son took
refuge and sought to recover his strength, drawing together domains they had conquered under Apollos’s watchful gaze. The eldest we presume to be the Allfather—he still favors the image of the smiling sun. I do not know the name of the younger brother, as it was stricken from our records, but if this Disciple bears the image of the crescent moon then this Mythos whom he serves might be brother to our Allfather, and one of the strongest beings to ever walk the stars.”
“And now he has set his sights on our world,” Tristan declared. “Can we expect any aid from the Allfather? This world is his and we have always reverenced him. Surely he will aid us in our time of need. ”
“Perhaps,” Elaina replied. “But Creation is vast—the chance that the Allfather has set his gaze upon Meldinar at this moment is slim. We must prevent Sevalorn from falling to these zealots or Kastor’s prediction will be realized. They will not stop until all of Meldinar lies in their sway. We cannot wait for aid that may not come. When I forsook my duties as Guardian to marry your father I was exiled from the Astarii. We may revere him as our God but we are far from being in his good graces. We must rely on ourselves for our defense.”
“We can sore afford another war Elaina,” Linea added from her seat, echoing her husband the King’s earlier sentiment.
Halmir spoke next, “We would be sorely pressed to raise an army and a fleet capable of transporting it. The fleet of the Tanamere was severely depleted—it would require time to raise another, time that we do not appear to have.”
“Kastor did say that if we could defeat the Disciples,” Syrion noted. “Khashish would defend itself. Perhaps it is only I that am required.” His tone had settled, the shock of seeing Kastor beginning to wear off. “And if I travel alone I can do so much faster than if I were trailing a fleet behind me. I’ll travel to the Shah’s court and cast out this Disciple. I will appraise their strength and aid them in their conflict with these Andarans that Kastor spoke of. I will use it as an opportunity to learn more of this Mythos, and those who serve him.”
When The Gods War: Book 2 - Chronicles of Meldinar Page 12
